


The Ballad of Hope and Sorrow

by smooch_ie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, beta'd by google docs my beloved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-26 12:21:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30105903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smooch_ie/pseuds/smooch_ie
Summary: Luke gets picked as the tribute for District Twelve. He knows how to fight, but what can he do against twenty-three other tributes when he's all alone without an ally?
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda & Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33





	1. The Bloodbath

The screen of a holo television lights up and the cheerful voice of one of the commentators echoes through the speakers.

“Welcome to the first day of the annual Hunger Games!” 

The sigil of Panem lights up the screen and the anthem plays in the background. It fades and reveals two people, their faces well-known after being on screen almost all the time for the past few days, talking about the tributes, interviewing them, evaluating their costumes, their stories, their fears and wishes and hopes, ripping every little bit of privacy from their lives.

One of them has gigantic eyes while the other seems to have had some body modifications done, since there are two bulges on his forehead that look strangely like bases of horns. They are both dressed in the same over-the-top way everyone in the Capitol dresses: glitter, bright colours, and the promise of being wealthier than you.

“The tributes are getting ready to face the arena as we speak, and I, for my part, am very excited,” the one with the big eyes says. His name, as he really likes to mention at the beginning of each broadcast, is Jabba.

“What do you think we can expect this year, Bib?”

Behind them, the screen shows pictures of the faces of this year’s tributes, every single one of them accompanied by a number. Their faces show different expressions; there is someone with black hair falling over her shoulder in a single braid and warm skin, Fennec – she looks like she’s ready for murder. There is a black-haired boy with dark skin who looks terrified, who’s barely old enough to participate, Grogu. There is someone with a crazy smile and the glint of deadly mischief in her eyes, Xi’an, and one of the other career tributes, Migs, looks bored.

Bib smiles as he turns to the camera, and pretends to think about an answer.

“Well, Jabba,” he says after waiting for a few seconds for dramatic effect. “I think that it is remarkable that almost half of the tributes scored eight or above. We have some strong contenders from the outer districts – every time that happens we are promised the Games will take an interesting course.”

“Yes, I agree with you there, Bib.” Jabba turns back to the camera and raises his hand so that it looks like he is whispering a secret to the audience.

“I heard the Gamemakers outdid themselves with the arena this year,” he says in a normal voice and raises his eyebrows suggestively.

Bib pretends to be shocked and covers his mouth with his hand, which sparkles with purple glitter, his eyes opened wide and a little gasp escaping his mouth.

“Jabba!” he scolds playfully.

They both chuckle, then the screen behind them changes to a countdown that starts at one minute.

“Oh, look!” Bib says and his eyes widen even further, gleaming with delight. “They started the countdown!”

Bib really tries to visualize how excited he is, with the way he almost bounces in his chair. Jabba laughs at him. Then he turns to the camera again.

“Who would you, watching from home, like to see win this year?” Still smiling, his eyes stay focused on the camera for a moment, then he turns back to his partner and repeats the question.  
“Oh, you are asking me?” Bib places his hands over his chest. “What an honour. Well, Jabba, you know we are not allowed to place bets,” he answers. Then he pauses for a second. “But if I could…”  
He frowns, pretending to think very hard. He does that a lot, and yet it still doesn’t look convincing.

“I really like the girl from District One, I think she has fire in her,” he eventually says. The countdown behind him shows forty seconds. “And she is a ten!”

Jabba nods. “A solid choice, Bib. I, for one, am very excited to see what Fortuna has in stock for the girls from District Eight. They have enraptured us with their love story. I have never cried this much during the interviews.” He pulls a neon green handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket and wipes a tear from his very dry eyes.

Bib nods and puts on a sad face. “Two lovers that have to fight each other… Get ready for the most heartbreaking story you have ever had the pleasure of witnessing during the Games!”  
The timer now says thirty seconds and makes a pleasant noise.

“Oh!” Bib says and the sad look from his face is gone just like that, replaced by excitement as he and his partner turn in their chairs so that they’re able to see the screen. Their profiles are still visible, and it accentuates Jabba’s huge eyes and Bib’s strange bulges.

The timer moves to the top right of the screen to make room for an aerial shot of this year’s cornucopia. It’s placed on top of a rocky terrain, a few metres higher than the still empty platforms where the tributes are going to get lifted on in a few seconds. The rocks are jagged and it’s clear that whoever will try to get some of the goods that spill out of the cornucopia will have to be somewhat of a skilful climber.

“Let us hope that none of the tributes skipped the rock climbing exercises,” Jabba jokes.

Bib shushes him. “Here they come!”

The tributes get raised up in their tubes. Twenty-four heads appear. Some of them look around in panic, others are fixed on the cornucopia. Some try to catch a glimpse of their surroundings. One tribute raises her hand to her mouth and blows a kiss to the camera, which raises a laugh in both commentators.

“I just love Xi’an!” Bib exclaims as he pretends to catch the kiss and presses his hand to his chest.

The tributes are dressed in functional clothing that consists of long pants, long-sleeved shirts with holes for their thumbs and a jacket that seems to be water-repellent as well as give some protection from cold weather, easily removable with a zipper.

The countdown is now at twenty seconds. The commentators disappear from the screen and, surprisingly, also stop talking as the tributes get ready to run, some putting their feet in position, others looking bored. There is tension in the air that can be felt even through the holo screen as the numbers of the countdown get closer and closer to zero.  
The girl from District One hisses and bares her teeth. The little boy from District Seven, Grogu – who, strangely enough, wears a green hat with gigantic ears that must make it hard for him to see – shivers as he desperately clenches his small fists at his sides to stop them from shaking. The face of the boy from District Two doesn’t betray a single emotion. One of the girls from District Eight whips her head around frantically, probably trying to find her loved one.

The last few seconds of the countdown pass, and after the gong that indicates the start of the Games, every tribute starts moving.

More than half of the tributes immediately run towards the cornucopia. The two boys from District Twelve, Luke and Biggs, Fennec from District Five, IG from District Three and Boba and Pershing from District Nine don’t.

Biggs and IG immediately turn away from the cornucopia and run as fast as they can, towards dense forest that is barely visible at the edge of the screen. Luke hesitates for a second, wasting precious seconds, his eyes wandering to Grogu, the boy with the green hat from District Seven. Then he shakes his head, grabs a backpack that lays on the ground a few steps away from him, and also runs towards the forest, but more to the left where a river seems to flow.

Boba and Fennec take one look at all the tributes running towards the cornucopia and apparently decide that it’s not worth it. Both of them start running towards a backpack that lays between their pedestals. They both get to it at the same time.

“Don’t make me do it,” Fennec growls through gritted teeth. She looks terrifying, but Boba charges her anyway and they fall to the ground fighting. For a few seconds they’re a pile of limbs. Then Fennec has Boba pinned under her, her arm pressing against his throat, cutting off his air.

She lets go before the cannon can boom and runs away with the backpack while Boba frantically tries to catch his breath.

Grogu seems to be paralyzed on his pedestal. Everyone started running, but he stayed where he was, watching everyone else in terror. After a few moments, he carefully steps down, his fists still clenched, and tries to walk away from the centre, throwing paranoid glances behind him every few seconds. Suddenly, someone grabs his body from behind and he struggles against the rigid grip of Gideon, a boy from District Eleven, taller and much stronger than him.

Out of nowhere, another tribute appears and tries to attack Gideon. Ahsoka, the girl from the same District as Grogu, tries to free him from Gideon’s grip. She’s barely older than Grogu. Gideon lets go of the child and starts to fight Ahsoka hand to hand.

Ahsoka is not a terrible fighter, but she is simply not strong enough to hold her ground long enough. Gideon towers over her, and when she makes the mistake to quickly look over to Grogu, who’s still laying in the same spot Gideon pushed him to – looking up at her with big, scared eyes – Gideon gets his hands around her neck and breaks it with a swift motion.

Ahsoka’s lifeless body falls to the ground, and the cannon booms. Gideon looks at her with disgust before he grabs Grogu, throws him over his shoulder and runs away from the pedestals. Grogu tries to escape, desperately stretching his arms out towards where Ahsoka’s body lays on the grass, mouth open in a silent cry, but Gideon’s hands and arms grip him without mercy.

So much is happening at the cornucopia. One of the boys from District Two, Mando, gets there first. He climbed the cliff so fast it looked as if he was simply taking a stroll. He grabs a blanket and lays it on the ground, throwing everything he wants on it: a suit of armour, a sword, multiple knives in different sizes and two backpacks with supplies.

He hears footsteps close to him and snaps his head up. The two girls from District Eight stand frozen in front of him. Both parties seize each other up, then Mando nods his head and lets them pass so they can gather supplies. They step closer to him warily, Cara watching him closely, her body language tense, but neither of them tries to kill the other.

Mando throws two packs of medicine onto the pile, curses when one bounces off, and decides to leave it. As he gathers the edges of the blanket and throws it over his shoulder like a bag, he watches the girls look at each other, their eyes filled with determination. Cara turns towards him and gives him a curt nod that he reciprocates, then they run as fast as they can with the weapons and supplies they collected. When Mando is sure they’re gone and doesn’t hear a cannon, he grabs a long silver spear and tries to leave the cornucopia.

Xi’an, the girl from District One the commentators were so enthusiastic about, Qin, her brother, Migs from District Two and Burg and Ran, the tributes from District Four, stand in his way. Apparently they already formed the career alliance, the alliance that’s established every year in silent understanding even before the Reaping even happens, and which is responsible for the most deaths in every Game. Xi’an somehow already got a knife with which she plays carelessly while she giggles.

“Mando,” she says in a playful voice and licks her lips innocently. She looks up at him through her eyelashes. “Let one of the boys help you with that heavy baggage.”

“I don’t think so,” Mando says. His voice is calm, but his posture is tense. His face still doesn’t betray a single emotion as he watches his opponents. It’s surprising that he isn’t a part of the alliance, given that he’s a career tribute too. 

Xi’an giggles again and lets her knife dance across her hand. Then she shrugs. “Your loss.”

The hand around her knife tenses, but before either of them can make a move, another tribute reaches the cornucopia. During the brief moment Xi’an’s distracted, Mando bumps her shoulder hard and slips through the opening that presents itself when she momentarily loses her balance. None of the other careers are fast enough to catch him.

Xi’an snarls and slices the throat of the tribute that interrupted them, Cobb from District Ten, when he walks through the opening of the cornucopia. He clutches his neck desperately, a look of absolute terror on his face while blood shoots out of the wound through his fingers onto Qin, who pulls a face and shoves him so he falls to the ground. Cobb chokes on his own blood, his free hand reaching for something that isn’t there, and a few seconds later his body goes still and the cannon booms. Qin rolls his body away from him with his foot, a gleeful expression on his face.

Two other tributes try to get supplies from the cornucopia, Greef from District Five and Zero from District Three. Both get killed by the careers, Greef from two stab wounds in the stomach from Burg and Ran, who move in perfect sync, and Zero, whose neck gets snapped by Qin. Two more times the cannon sounds.

Peli, a tribute from District Six, sneaked in while the careers were distracted. She hides deep in the cornucopia and makes herself as small as possible.

“He’s getting away!” Qin shouts at his sister. Kuiil from District Ten makes his way back down the rocks, a backpack on his back and a sword in his hand that he probably got from outside the cornucopia, where supplies are scattered more sparsely. When he realizes the careers noticed him, he curses and tries to go faster, but he slips and loses his footing. He tumbles down the last bit of the rocks and his leg breaks, leaving him no choice but to crawl, his arms desperately pushing the ground in an attempt to make him move faster. 

Xi’an looks at her brother and rolls her eyes, then turns and uses her momentum to throw her knife. It buries itself in Kuiils forehead with a sickening crack when he takes a look back to see if he’s being followed and the cannon booms again.

“Was that everyone?” she yells, and her voice echoes in the cornucopia. Peli presses her eyes together and bites her lip but stays perfectly still, concealed in the shadows of the walls.

“Um, actually,” a different voice answers carefully. Mythrol from District Eleven slowly steps into their view, his hands raised and a sheepish smile on his face. “I was wondering if I could join your alliance?”

Everyone looks at him for a second. Then Burg starts laughing, a deep, booming sound that echoes in the cornucopia.

“Tiny!” he yells.

The cannon booms again as Mythrol’s head is smashed against the metal wall.

Xi’an wrinkles her nose, then grins. She walks over to the rows of weapons that are left and moves her hand lovingly over the many knives that are on display.

“What an amazing opening!” the voice of Jabba yells before the commentator and his partner fade back onto the screen. “Did you see the way Fennec fought with her bare hands?”

The two commentators spend a few minutes pointing out highlights from the Bloodbath.

“Did I exaggerate when I said the Gamemakers outdid themselves?” Jabba finally says. The screen behind him shows IG walking through a dense forest. After a few moments, it switches to Gideon, still carrying Grogu. The child isn’t fighting back. It doesn’t look like he’s conscious. Gideon is walking through sand, a line of dense forest barely visible in the distance.

“You certainly did not,” Bib replies. “To make it easier for the viewers watching, should we explain how the arena works?”

Jabba looks at something out of frame next to him, probably a screen. After a few moments, he nods. Apparently, there is nothing exciting going on in the arena that requires their attention.  
“You see, Bib,” Jabba begins to explain. “The arena is not only one thing this year.”

A holographic three-dimensional map appears in front of him. As always, the arena is a dome, kilometres of land stretched out under a rounded ceiling. Even through the holo screen it’s easy to spot the rocky hill on top of which the cornucopia sits.

It has the usual shape, with a wide opening that spills the weapons and supplies over the jagged ground in front of it, and an almost pointy end which stretches towards the ceiling of the arena. Instead of being the usual shiny silver metal, it’s painted dark grey, almost black, and has narrow but long windows scattered on the sides, which make it look almost like a small house of some kind. The area surrounding it is flat and makes the cornucopia loom threateningly over the centre of the area.

Jabba points to the cornucopia. “This is where we just saw our tributes fight”, he explains matter of factly, as if he were observing birds instead of describing a gruesome and bloody fight. “Excellent form on the boys from District Four, by the way.”

Bib makes an affirmative noise.

“And all of this,” Jabba explains while pointing to the surrounding land, “is over seventy square kilometres of different flora – and as a little birdie told me – even fauna.”  
With a small movement of his hand, he enlarges the map. It now shows the area surrounding the cornucopia.

“Usually, the Gamemakers decide on one thing for the arena: a forest, a jungle or even the apocalyptic ruins of a city.”

“That year was brilliant!” Bib chips in enthusiastically.

“It was indeed,” Jabba agrees. “This year, however, the Gamemakers decided it would be more fun if the arena was diverse, with multiple biomes that each have their own advantages and…” he pauses dramatically, “dangers.” His tone is hushed, but excitement gleams in his eyes.

“Just to give you, our lovely audience, an idea of what awaits our brave tributes,” Bib says with a smirk. “Here are the biomes surrounding the cornucopia.”

He points to each one as he explains. “There is a forest, in which cover is found easily – but dangerous foes of many kinds anticipate the tributes’ arrival.” The holo screen shows the dense foliage of many trees, which make it impossible to see what hides underneath. Here and there, some bigger trees with massive trunks jut out of the blanket of treetops.

“A desert lays north,” he explains as he points to the other side of the cornucopia. “A barren, unforgiving wasteland. Certainly not easy to survive in, but who would follow you if you went in?” He chuckles. “I definitely would not.”

Both commentators snicker.

“What I find particularly interesting, and if I may be so insolent as to speak from my many years of experience watching the Games,” Jabba says with no embarrassment about his boasting, “there is one area that almost looks like a marketplace, which has a lot of potential to be a spot of many fateful encounters.”

The holo zooms in on the mentioned area. Slotted between the dense forest and what seems to be the base of a mountain, a small area lies innocently. It looks the most welcoming out of all that were pointed out, with small wooden stalls with colourful banners littering a sandy path. A few small stone houses line up behind them, their walls beat and full of cracks.

“Looks promising, right?” Jabba says. His tone is eerily joyful. “But let us just say that no one should judge a book by its cover.”

Both commentators stop talking as the hologram of the map moves, showing off more of the areas in a birdseye perspective. Glimpses of other biomes present themselves: a beach that connects to an ocean that reaches the barrier at the edge of the dome; a biome covered in snow with a few sparsely scattered spruce trees; a swamp.

“But enough of that, we have no intention of showing off everything on the first day,” Jabba announces happily. “We are now interrupting the programme for a message from our sponsors, because the tributes are not the only ones who have them!”

Bib laughs and claps Jabba on the shoulder. His teeth are so white that even through a holo screen they are almost blinding.

“Stay tuned for more updates on our beloved tributes and insight into what exactly makes this year’s Games tick! Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour!”

The tune of an advertisement sounds. Leia turns off the holo with hands shaking from anger and only barely resists the urge to smash the tiny device to the wall.


	2. The Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke finds himself alone, paranoid, and scared.

Luke is exhausted. His legs are heavy. His arms are heavy. His knees almost gave out under him multiple times by now. He can’t remember when his mind last had the time to think clearly. He just keeps running. Running and running, deeper into the damned arena. As far away as he can get from the promise of blood, the cornucopia, and the careers, away from the terrified eyes of the child he left behind selfishly. 

He stumbles over an exposed root and lands on the floor. For a moment he just stays right where he fell down, his heart beating fast and his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to suck air into his lungs desperately. He turns on his back and stares at the treetops that form a perfect roof over him, and the small rays of sunshine that paint warm spots on the ground. The arena even has birds that twitter happily. Luke finds the attention to detail sickening.

In a different situation, he would have found it peaceful. He would find a meadow or climb a tree with his friends, sing songs or just talk about nothing while the sun warms his face.

But he is in the arena. And in the arena, nothing is peaceful.

From his spot on the ground, Luke listens carefully. No sounds betray the presence of another tribute. He only hears the soft whisper of the wind that blows through the branches, the birds that sing a lovely melody, and the faint gurgle of water.

_Water._

Luke sits up immediately. If he could find water…

He adjusts the straps of his backpack. He doesn’t even know what’s in there, he just grabbed it and ran. Images of the Bloodbath from previous Hunger Games appear in his brain, the blood, the screams. Luke shakes his head violently and tries to banish these thoughts to the deepest corner of his mind. He couldn’t allow himself to get distracted.

 _You’re far away from the cornucopia_ , he reminds himself.

As it turns out, a small stream flows gently through the woods. The soft gurgles are calming. After a few seconds of listening for sounds that shouldn’t be there (and finding none), Luke decides to take a break. He sits down on the trunk of a fallen tree, wincing as the muscles in his legs protest, and takes off the backpack. He rubs his shoulders for a moment and sighs.

The backpack contains an array of mostly useless things. Luke finds a reel of string, a silver blanket that makes so much noise Luke is worried everyone in the arena can hear it, an empty book without a pen and a bit of rolled up wire. He finds rope at the very bottom of the large compartment and a piece of iron in one of the smaller pockets. It has a flat side that is maybe one centimetre wide, the ends curling up to make for a better grip.

Luke sighs in relief. A chance to start a fire.

There is no container of any sorts that Luke could use to carry water, which makes him anxious. That means he is confined to stay close to the stream, at least until he finds anything to hold water.

He carefully places everything back into the backpack and zips it. The stream gurgles happily, the air is warm and bright, and the unobstructed sunshine makes the water sparkle as if thousands of diamonds were scattered on its floor. If it were any other day back in District Twelve, he wouldn’t have hesitated to take off his clothes and jump into the water. The forests beyond the fence that mark the border of District Twelve are very similar to the part of the arena he is in.

But he isn’t at home. He isn’t surrounded by friends. He is in a death trap he has no hope of escaping, especially after watching the career tributes destroy every dummy with every weapon imaginable in mere seconds during training. He is sure the six of them have already formed an alliance, if the nods they gave each other before the countdown ended was any indication.

He pushes those thoughts aside. After a few more seconds of careful listening, he cautiously steps out from the cover of the trees, towards the stream. He kneels in the soft grass and dips his hands in. The chilly water flows around his fingers gently. The river murmurs soft words of encouragement and gently pats his fingers in support.

Luke blinks away the tears that formed in his eyes and drinks. Only after the first gulp of water went down his throat he realizes how thirsty he really was after all the running. He notices how his shirt sticks uncomfortably to his body, how his feet hurt in his shoes.

But he can’t allow himself to take a break. The sun is already too low, and he still has no food. So even though his whole body protests, he gets up, shoulders his backpack, and heads back into the forest.

One thing Luke is really good at is setting traps. His complexion might suggest otherwise; he doesn’t have the typical brown haired and brown eyed looks that are typical for the Seam, but it’s where he grew up. His mother was from the Seam, his father used to live in the Merchant’s Section; for reasons Luke still doesn’t understand, they moved to the poorer part of District Twelve to start their family.

 _At least this helps me now_ , Luke thinks as he sets up branches and ties them together with the string from his backpack. That the constant danger of starving during the eighteen years of his life would help him survive in the arena was something he only considered after he had been Reaped. Once he’s done with the first trap, he sets more a bit further away. When four of them are in place there is barely any light left.

Luke’s stomach grumbles. There is no way anything will get caught in one of his traps fast enough for him to cook and eat it in the near future, so he resigns to climbing a tree with an empty stomach to set up camp where no one can surprise him.

But Luke climbs to the very top of the tree first, to the highest branch that he can reach. When he pushes aside the leaves and boosts himself up so he can look over them, his breath catches.

The view is _beautiful_ , even in the grey of the fading daylight. Surrounding him is the green ocean of the forest, branches swaying softly in the evening breeze. Straight ahead the cornucopia gleams even without the sunlight. Beyond the forest he can see a desert, and even further away a large body of water, like an ocean. On his right there is the rocky base of a mountain, and what seems to look like a small settlement squished in between, and on his left a small strip of flat land with yellow grass and thin trees stretches around the forest. Even further left beyond that, a big wall of grey fog forbids Luke to see whatever hides there.

It only confirms the suspicions Luke had ever since he was lifted onto his platform and had looked around in panic. The arena doesn’t only have one theme this year. Some Gamemaker clown had apparently thought it would be fun to change it up a bit.

Luke takes a deep breath and suppresses the urge to scream his lungs out in his anger and resentment towards the Capitol. Instead, he closes his eyes for a moment to let the soft wind cool off his skin, reminding himself that it won’t do any good and that it would likely put his family at risk. When he opens his eyes again, he looks around carefully for any sign of movement.

Luke can’t see anything moving, but there is the smoke from a campfire rising close to the edge of the forest, way too close to Luke for his liking. But then again, no distance is big enough in the arena.

Luke worries his lip. If someone thinks they can light a campfire this carelessly, they must be very confident in their abilities to defend themselves and/or travel in a larger group. And that makes it pretty likely that the smoke comes from the careers.

Luke stays in the treetop for a while longer and tries (and fails) to squash the tight knot that formed in his stomach. He’s becoming more paranoid the longer he stares at the thin strip of smoke sneaking towards the sky.

He knows he’s an easy target. The Gamemakers gave him a five, and while that doesn’t necessarily reflect his real fighting abilities, he knows everyone else definitely thinks so.

 _Our strategy is making everyone underestimate you_ , Ben, his uncle and mentor, had explained. _You don’t look dangerous. Let’s use that to your advantage._

While he wasn’t in the arena, Luke had believed it to be a good idea, since he _was_ pretty deadly with a sword, but now that he is caged in this dome and _doesn’t have a sword_ , he begins to think that maybe he should have impressed the people evaluating him after the training period.

Anxious but without means to change the situation, he climbs back down from his lookout. He finds a thick branch that’s still covered by lower growing leaves, making him hard to spot from the ground, ties the rope around his body and tries to get some sleep.

He loses track of time as he tries to will his mind to rest, but it’s no use. After the faces of the fallen tributes have been projected onto the night sky, he keeps obsessing over the way he’s alone against eighteen other people, six of which have probably formed an alliance of pure power, half of which scored an eight or higher, and one of which is a _child_.

Images from the training period that Luke had tried to forget appear in his mind: Xi’an putting an axe through a dummy with such force it flew across the training room, Qin using nothing but his fists to rip the head off another one, Mando throwing a spear with such force and accuracy that it buries itself deep in the plastic, sticking out on the other side, Migs shooting two arrows at once that both find their target perfectly, Burg and Ran slicing through dummies with knives as if their minds are one–

The treetops seem to collapse on top of him and he registers his breath quicken while he thinks _careers will find me and kill me they will kill Biggs and the child and the two girls and they will hunt me and I don’t have a weapon and I will die–_

He clutches his shirt desperately and his fingers brush against something small and rectangular underneath. He yanks his token out and clenches his fingers against the metal, the edges digging painfully into his palm.

 _Calm yourself, Luke_ , a voice that sounds like Ben chides him. His tone is patient, not unfriendly. Luke focuses on the soft rustling of the leaves around him, the melodic sound of the crickets, the calm hooting of an owl. His breathing slows down and the panic subsides until it’s only a nagging feeling at the back of Luke’s mind.

He opens his palm and looks at the red marks the edges of his token have left on them. The small, pulsating sensation he feels as blood returns to his fingertips grounds him, and he carefully opens the medallion.

Leia, Ben and his own face appear as he looks at the old, yellow picture. It has always been Luke’s favourite of the three of them. Ben stands in the background, his arms crossed over his chest, a slightly annoyed yet fond expression on his wrinkled face, while Leia dips Luke dramatically as if they were top dancers at a competition. Her face is covered by her hair, but Luke can still recall the bright smile on her face and the pure joy in her eyes.

He stares at the picture for a while. Then he carefully clasps the medallion and puts it back under his shirt, close to his heart.

-O-

The sound of a cannon starts Luke from restless sleep. For a moment he doesn’t remember where he is and almost falls down from the branch he slept on. The rope holds him up, but it still takes Luke a few seconds to get his heartbeat to calm down. He listens intently for any sounds that shouldn’t be there and hears a splashing sound, like a wave crashing on a beach.

Except that he’s in a forest and there shouldn’t be a sound like that.

He removes the rope and folds it neatly before stowing it back in his backpack, then he moves to stand up. His muscles are sore, and it costs Luke a great deal of energy to get his body in an upright position. His back is stiff from laying in the same position on hard bark for the night, but still, if Luke wasn’t starving or hadn’t heard the weird noise, he’s sure he would’ve just stayed in the safety of the treetops forever.

He climbs up the tree with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. As his head breaks through the leaves, the sun hits him in his face with its full force. It’s pleasantly warm, gentle, as if it knows how bad he slept. It takes some of the weight off his shoulders momentarily.

Luke sighs as he feels his nerves calm and looks around. There’s no smoke rising above the spot Luke had seen last night. He’s quick to identify the source of the noise when he looks around: In the far distance, by the ocean, a probably gigantic wave has crashed into the beach and the edges of the surrounding areas, the last of its water still pooling around the few palm trees littered on the beach, only retracting into the ocean slowly.

He wonders if the wave was the reason for the cannon. He has no idea who was killed, the picture of the tribute in the sky already gone, and he’s beginning to feel the dread of paranoia again when he realizes that the Gamemakers probably triggered it, and that he has no idea whether he will be the next to be at the receiving end of their… ideas. Luke doesn’t know what’s worse: Having enemies within the arena that are deadly with all kinds of weapons, or people outside the arena that he has no control over, no idea of what they have planned next, who can attack him without any warning. At least with the tributes in the arena, he has a chance of seeing them coming. The Gamemakers on the other hand? Their actions are invisible, random to Luke because he can’t see what might trigger an action from them.

Deciding to focus on something else, he makes his way down the tree and by the time he jumps down from the lowest branch his muscles are a bit less sore and his mind a little less heavy. He starts the day with silencing his growling stomach and getting water for his parched throat.

Fulfilling his basic needs turns out to be a good distraction from the thoughts racing in his head and by the time his thirst is quenched and his stomach is filled with the meat of a small animal that had the bad luck of walking into one of his traps, he feels a little bit better.

Luke decides to follow the stream, itching to keep moving. He has no idea if the careers are still by the edge of the forest. He wonders who the killed tribute is, and if there was a chance that they were killed by the careers.

The cannon earlier brought the number of dead tributes to seven, if Luke counted the booming sounds during the bloodbath correctly. In comparison to previous games that isn’t a lot, and Luke is sure it has something to do with the unusually high number of tributes with scores of eight or above. He wonders what score he would’ve gotten if he had shown his sword skills during the assessment.

The day slowly trickles away as Luke keeps following the stream. Everything around him is peaceful, and for a split second, he can almost forget that he’s in the arena.

He imagines that he’s back home, sneaking through the fence with Leia and Han, maybe Biggs. They giggle as the adrenaline of doing something illegal hits them and they run across the field towards the forest. Luke grins at Biggs when Leia grasps Han’s hand firmly and they almost fall over, and Biggs winks at him. Luke can feel the redness crawl on his cheeks as he lowers his head and smiles softly.

The snap of a twig nearby shatters his daydream instantly. Within a millisecond Luke is back in the safety of the treeline and climbs onto a tree. He only stops when he’s sure he is high enough to not be spotted should anyone actually be there.

He waits for a few tense moments, clutching the trunk so hard he can feel the little bumps in the bark poke through his skin.

But nothing happens. No one charges from behind the bushes, no one shoots an arrow at him. The birds sing happily, the wind rustles the leaves softly, the water gurgles peacefully.

It still takes Luke a long time to get off the tree and continue walking.

-O-

Two days pass without anything noteworthy happening. Luke establishes a dull routine that helps him not obsess over how paranoid he is all the time, how unsafe he feels, how on edge he is. He wonders if the other tributes are up to something more interesting than him, because he’s sure the Gamemakers would’ve thought of something horrifying to keep the audience entertained if they weren’t.

The two days feel like eternity. Luke doesn’t continue walking. He spends most of his time by the stream, listening. He’s bored but his mind is agitated, expecting something to jump him every time he hears a twig snap, leaves rustle or water splash.

Every evening when the sun sets, Luke climbs on a tree to watch the arena for a while. Every evening, he sees the smoke of a campfire rise. It doesn’t move positions after the first time, the tributes apparently content with the place they found. Luke is pretty sure they camp in the small settlement at the base of the mountain.

He’s relieved that his strategy to avoid confrontation has worked so far.

Later in the day, when the sun is setting and paints everything in warm colours, Luke finds himself in his usual spot above the foliage. He’s keeping a careful watch over what he can see, eyes fixed on the smoke. It appears to be at the same spot it has been for the last two days.

Luke is about to fall asleep after watching the smoke for a long time, the sky now black and his surroundings dark, when he hears deep, hoarse screams, probably from the big guy from District Four, Burg. Luke’s head snaps up from where the soft sounds of the forest lulled him into dozing off. He’s sure it comes from the direction of the campfire, even if the mountain throws the echo back weirdly.

Luke’s heart begins to hammer. Why would someone attack a career alliance?

A few minutes pass where Luke hears more faint yelling. Both male and female voices joined in. Luke is waiting for the cannon to see who the stupid person was that decided to try to assassinate a group so clearly overpowered. The yelling stops for the blink of an eye–

When the cannon booms, it’s not the face of some tribute from the outer districts.

It’s Burg’s. Burg from District Four. _A career._

 _What the–_ Luke thinks. A few seconds later the smoke of the campfire vanishes, and Luke hears more angry shouting. He’s pretty sure it comes from Xi’an. He will never forget the dread he felt upon hearing her yelling across the whole training grounds as she dismantled dummy after dummy to show off her strength.

Luke carefully climbs down onto a lower branch to see beneath the treetops. He’s still hidden well enough that he can’t be spotted, except for if someone were to stand directly under his tree. He closes his eyes in an already familiar manner to listen for danger.

The forest is eerily silent.

Luke opens his eyes again and squints into the darkness, trying to see anything. For a few minutes there is nothing, but Luke’s heart doesn’t slow down. He’s sure something will come his way.

And this time, it does.

The first thing Luke sees is the silver reflection of armour. It’s only there for the blink of an eye, probably catching what little light from the night sky the trees let through, but Luke knows someone is there. He hears soft footsteps on the moss, and someone curses under their breath as they walk past Luke’s tree.

They stop right beneath it, catching their breath. Luke almost lets out a long string of curses his mother would smack him across the head for, but he keeps quiet. His heart hammering in his throat, he keeps a close ear on the tribute.

They are sucking in breaths in a quick pace and Luke is pretty sure he hears a small gasp followed by a sharp intake of a breath. Luke is pretty sure this tribute is injured.

He begins to feel sorry for this person but pushes that thought away as quickly as it came. He can’t afford the luxury of empathy in this place. Not when he has a home to get back to and his family waits for him.

Luke hears a soft thump as the tiniest vibration goes up the tree. And then more light finds its way through the canopy of leaves and allows Luke to see this tribute.

A silver helmet stares up directly at him.

Luke jumps and almost falls off the tree. He clutches the trunk in a desperate attempt to not lose his balance, keeping his eyes steady on the silver armour. He has no idea who this tribute is but given their incredible array of weapons – Luke sees at least two swords, a few knives, and a silver spear – they must be a career tribute.

They stand, unmoving, and tension begins to build between them. Their eyes are fixed on him – or at least Luke assumes that from the way the visor is tilted – and Luke feels like prey. If the tribute weren’t injured, Luke is sure they would have climbed up the tree already and sliced him up in many different, terrifying, nightmare inducing ways.

The sound of a branch snapping in two breaks the tension between them. The tribute tilts their head at Luke sideways before staring straight ahead in the direction the snap came from. The light vanishes and everything turns dark again.

“Mandooooo,” a female voice calls, sweet as honey but with an angry undertone. She sounds awfully close. And an awful lot like Xi’an.

 _Mando?_ Luke thinks. He remembers the face belonging to the tribute from District Two. Why would he be hunted by his career allies?

 _Unless he isn’t in an alliance with them_ , it dawns on Luke.

Mando curses again and Luke hears soft footsteps receding deeper into the forest. A few seconds later new footsteps, less carefully placed and much louder, approach. Still, they are too quiet to be caused by more than two sets of feet.

Luke wonders what exactly happened. Why are none of the careers behaving the way they are supposed to?

The footsteps don’t come to a halt. Xi’an throws more insults around and the other tribute grunts in anger.

“I’m going to kill him with my bare hands,” a male voice presses through gritted teeth. Luke hears knuckles crack.

“Not if I kill him first,” Xi’an replies and giggles. He can basically see the excited glint in her eyes.

Their footsteps vanish, and a few minutes later the whole forest is quiet again. Luke listens intently but hears nothing. Seconds pass without a noise and slowly the sounds of nature return. Owls hoot carefully, as if they’re still not sure if danger is completely gone, crickets begin to chirp, and leaves rustle as small animals run through them again.

It still takes Luke what feels like years to calm his heartbeat.

He tries to make sense of what he saw and heard. Career tributes hunting another career tribute? Apparently he had been wrong in assuming that all of them would form an alliance. Given that Mando ran away from them and their wholehearted death threats against him, Luke is pretty sure Mando was the one who killed Burg.

He tries to think. He desperately needs a weapon. He got away this time due to pure luck. Mando had been injured, it had been dark, but the two tributes got way too close to him for his liking, even if they hadn’t known he sat in the trees.

But he can’t go to the cornucopia. Going to the cornucopia means coming out of the relative safety of the dense forest, leaving cover. The thought alone makes the hair on Luke’s neck stand up. But still, if Luke doesn’t get any sort of weapon soon, the next time he might not be so lucky.

He worries his lip. Where else could he find weapons?

The career camp comes to his mind. If Mando surprised them, and Luke is pretty sure of that given that he managed to kill one of them before the others could kill _him_ , they probably left Burg’s weapons in favour of pursuit. If Luke was fast enough…

The thought creates an uneasy feeling in Luke’s stomach. Still, he decides after taking a deep breath, it would be his best option. Hopefully the reason why Luke only heard two tributes pursuing Mando meant they split up to find him, although it would also make sense if they left them behind to stand watch. But why wasn’t the campfire lit anymore then?

Maybe there was no career alliance this year.

Not knowing makes Luke’s insides tingle unpleasantly.

-O-

One last time Luke climbs up to the treetop. He’s tired after a night of fitful sleep. He’s beginning to hate the daily reminder of fallen tributes during the night, because there aren’t even any tributes to be reminded of, so the national anthem is the only thing blaring through the arena.

He still keeps a hopeful eye out for it, relieved every time Biggs‘ name isn’t part of the projection.

The arena is oddly peaceful in the morning light. Luke doesn’t see anything moving and there isn’t any sign of smoke. Despite all his doubts, Luke counts this as a win as he climbs down the tree. He winces as he lands on the soft floor and stretches his back.

He goes to the stream to drink, then makes a quick fire to cook the small frog-like animal that got tangled in one of his traps. As always, Luke sends out a silent apology as he sticks it on a branch and roasts it over the flames.

And then he begins walking. From his daily observation he knows the direction he needs to go, even if he can’t see his destination under the trees. Just to be sure, every now and then he climbs a tree and watches his surroundings for a few minutes. It slows his journey down, but he feels safer.

It’s already afternoon when Luke gets close to the edge of the forest. He can see the cracked buildings surrounding the marketplace, the rocky ground on which they stand and the mountain looming over them. With no trees to climb up to, Luke feels completely exposed.

He focuses on listening before he can begin to think about his clammy hands, his fast heartbeat, or the tight knot in his stomach. He can’t hear anything.

It still takes him a few seconds to push the dread away enough to sneak towards the buildings. His feet don’t make a sound. He takes a deep breath and peeks around the corner, half expecting to see the careers sitting around a lit campfire, chatting about their murderous plans as if they were gossiping.

But the marketplace is empty. Luke lets out a breath he didn’t know he held. The area is oddly peaceful. Without the cover of trees, the sunlight shines without obstruction. The cool air of the forest is replaced by warmth that gets held by the stone and it only takes Luke’s body a few seconds to begin sweating.

The openness of the area makes Luke uneasy. There are so many crevices, doors, windows, _buildings_ someone could jump out any second and kill him. Someone could be invisible easily while crouching behind a stall.

Luke walks slowly and warily past the stalls. He got so used to the sounds of the forest that the silence of the settlement is deafening.

He passes another building, muscles tight in anticipation of someone jumping him. And then he sees the remains of what used to be the camp of the careers, nothing more than a pile of ash and a half burned log. There is a big pool of dried blood next to it, but Burg’s body is nowhere to be seen.

And that’s it. No weapons. No supplies of any kind.

Luke is disappointed. A part of him knew the careers weren’t stupid enough to leave weapons laying around. But a bigger part of him had been hopeful, happy that he would finally have something to defend himself with. Something that he could use to get out of this cursed place. See his friends and family again.

Maybe this is a sign. The universe was against Luke the second his name got picked in the Reaping. No one from the outer districts ever wins the Hunger Games. Ben was the closest he had to a mentor, and he didn’t know the absolute horror that came with hearing your name roll of the overenthusiastic lips of someone who comes from a place where they have everything, and then have to listen to them tell you how big of an honour it is to fight for your district. All while the person you hoped to have a future with sits right there with you, mirroring the panic you feel, blinking every once in a while in hopes of waking up from this terrible nightmare.

He just stares at the pile of ashes for what could’ve been hours. He feels what little hope he had built up leave his body, and he is ready to just lay down and wait for someone to find him and relieve him from his existence.

A small part of him wants to get up, keep fighting, make Ben proud. Even when they had a particularly cold winter in District Twelve, no food, starving and freezing as they huddled around the tiny flames in the fireplace, he never lost hope like this. But Luke was not at his best when he was alone. He was at his most optimistic when he was with other people, people he could care for, people he could express his love for. People who he could depend on and who knew they could depend on him.

But they took away his family, forced Biggs in here with him and expected him to fight a pointless fight whose scars he would carry with him, and that wouldn’t let him go even if he defied the odds and somehow managed to get out alive.

He just feels empty. He doesn’t have the energy to hide.

Luke watches the ashes of the long extinguished campfire get blown away by a light breeze. He follows them with his eyes as they get swept up into the air, higher into the sky, and wishes nothing more than to be one of them.

The sun is beginning to set, and Luke doesn’t move a muscle. He hears rustling behind him but doesn’t move a muscle. When the sound turns out to be nothing, he doesn’t move a muscle. When a cannon booms and his body registers a soft vibration shortly after, he doesn’t move a muscle. He just stares at the smiling face of Peli from District Six that shines brightly in the sky.

Then he hears the quiet chime of a sponsor parachute.

He slowly sits as he curiously watches the parachute sail through the air close to him. It dings pleasantly, gently getting his attention with the promise of something encouraging.

Luke stares at it in awe. He can’t remember the last time someone from District Twelve got a gift from a sponsor, especially not if they did something unheroic like laying on the ground depressedly. Because that is not a rare occasion in the arena, and it’s not how sponsor gifts work. You get a gift if you need something badly, and only after they deemed your previous actions worthy enough.

The parachute lands on top of one of the abandoned buildings, daring him to gather himself and get up. He still feels miserable and it takes him a few seconds to gather enough motivation to get to his feet, but once he’s standing, he feels his curiosity get the better of him and a rush of adrenaline surges through him as he climbs the building with newfound energy.

The building isn’t necessarily tall, but the area opposite of the mountain slopes down softly, giving Luke a clear view over a big part of the arena. He’s close to the cornucopia; he can see it glistening in the evening sunlight only a kilometre away.

He watches for movement for a second, but no one seems to be around. Luke is once again thankful that apparently whatever the other tributes are up to seems to be interesting enough to keep the Gamemaker’s focus away from him.

He feels bad for thinking this way but pushes these thoughts away as he steps closer to the parachute. It’s plain white and flopped halfway over the side of the building. The little grey box sits safely on the roof, and still chimes softly.

Luke unclasps the hook holding the box and carefully examines it. It has the shape of a cylinder, only slightly bigger than his hands. There is a simple closing mechanism at the top consisting of a piece of plastic that hooks into a hole, keeping the contents safe.

Luke carefully removes the hook, and his eyes fall onto a hastily scribbled note in Leia’s handwriting.

_Get your butt up. I want to see you for dinner in a couple of days. Ben pulled a few strings for this, so you better stop moping._

He can’t help but smile at the piece of paper. He blinks away the tears forming in his eyes at the sight of Leia’s handwriting that’s elegant even though the note is hastily written and tucks it into his pocket carefully. Then he looks inside to see what Leia decided to send him.

It’s a deep green crystal, a little bit smaller than his palm, almost glowing in the sunlight. Luke stares at it for a few seconds and this time he can’t blink away the tears as the love and adoration for his sister crashes into him like an ocean wave during a storm.

Luke doesn’t know where it originally came from. Leia always told him that it belonged to their father, but Luke doesn’t remember ever seeing it around the house. Sometimes Leia would joke that it was a courting gift, given to their father by his mother before they got married.

“Maybe you can give it to someone special when you find them,” she would say. Luke would blush and fumble with the hem of his shirt, trying to hide his red face, but Leia always knew how he felt. Most of the time she would leave it at that, sometimes she would invite Biggs over the next time they hung out with their friends, and subtly not-very-subtly wink at Luke.

Luke feels like all worry falls off him at the thought of his sister watching over him, even now when they are worlds apart. There’s a small smile on his face as he takes a moment to admire the way the crystal catches the sunlight, making it seem like there’s a smaller sun hidden in the green.

With newfound courage and strength, Luke carefully pockets the crystal in one of the smaller compartments of his backpack and attaches the soft material of the parachute to one of the straps. Then, even though he feels like a total idiot, he looks up to the dome of the arena and puts a hand on his heart.

The first thing he needs to do, Luke thinks, is get a damn weapon. He has been without one for way too long and he knows he will feel much safer with something to defend himself with, preferably a sword. He momentarily wonders if Ben is watching him right now and what he thinks of Luke’s less than ideal progress.

Determined to make him proud and with the thought of Leia’s encouraging smile, Luke decides to try his chance with the one thing he had been trying to avoid: the cornucopia.

Luke never liked it. Every year it’s the place where the most blood gets spilled. The Bloodbath and the Feasts were always something Luke couldn’t look at, and he still doesn’t understand how people can find joy in watching children murder one another. Maybe it comes with a luxurious life, or maybe some people are just insane.

He stares at the horizon for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts, and watches in awe as the setting sun paints the sky in the most beautiful shades of red and orange. The colours remind him of Leia, strong as fire but kind and supportive of the people she loves. Luke considers himself very lucky to be one of them.

He decides to return to the forest during the night and make his way over to the cornucopia as early as he possibly can (it’s actually pretty close; almost fully visible in the distance), then hide in the treeline to see if he’s alone. Maybe no one else will be there. Maybe Luke will get lucky and a sword will be waiting for him.

Luke is pretty sure it won’t.


End file.
